1,000 Foods To Eat Before You Die: A Food Lover's Life List (15 page)

Further information and recipes:
The Food of France
by Waverley Root (1992);
Mastering the Art of French Cooking, Volume 1
by Julia Child, Louisette Bertholle, and Simone Beck (1961);
foodnetwork.com
(search rack of lamb persillade).

Aligot’s impressive stretch.

Silken smooth or rustically lumpy, mashed potatoes rank high among the world’s comfort foods. But no version is as wickedly rich or sensuously addictive as aligot, a fonduelike specialty of the Auvergne region in south central France. Preparation begins with starchy potatoes that are cooked and pureed with butter, crème fraîche, and a hint of crushed garlic, and then dramatically finished at the table in a copper saucepan. There, the concoction is whipped and stirred, and whipped and stirred again, along with soft curds of the cow’s milk Cantal or Salers cheese or the acidic, nutty Tomme de Laguiole. As a wooden spoon is worked through the mixture, it becomes elastic and stretchy. A skillful practitioner can turn the process into a veritable floor show, pulling the potato-and-cheese-coated spoon high above the pot before dipping it back again, in an act reminiscent of mozzarella production.

As elegantly as it is presented now, aligot is believed to have originated as a shepherds’ dish, and it was much favored by supplicants stopping to rest overnight in the Auvergne en route to the shrine of Santiago de Compostela in Galicia, Spain. This delicious dish often accompanies roasted meats, and it
is traditionally topped with darkly pungent, crisp-skinned blood sausage, as it is at L’Ambassade d’Auvergne in Paris.

Where:
In Paris
, Ambassade d’Auvergne, tel 33/1-42-72-31-22,
ambassade-auvergne.com
;
in New York
, Minetta Tavern, tel 212-475-3850,
minettatavernny.com
;
in Los Angeles
, Spago, tel 310-385-0880,
wolfgangpuck.com
.
Further information and recipe:
Cheese Primer
by Steven Jenkins (1996);
cookstr.com
(search aligote).

Chef Antoine Magnin’s spirit lives on at L’Ami Louis.

At first glance, a newcomer to this venerable bistro might decide he or she had come to the wrong address. Given its justifiable reputation for high prices—
really
high prices—L’Ami Louis looks like a dump. But what a noble dump it is. Opened in 1930, it is said not to have been painted since—a claim the smoke-and-garlic-glazed wine-dark walls do not refute. If you toss your coat on the rack above your table, realize that it will exude the faint scent of garlic until its next visit to the cleaner. That side effect has not discouraged loyal patrons past or present, including fashion designers such as the elegant Madame Grès, stars of stage and screen such as Helen Mirren, politicians like Bill Clinton, musicians such as Seiji Ozawa, and anybody in jeans or a tux who is passionate about eating well.

At least that lingering aroma of garlic reminds all that they have partaken of a truly spectacular meal. For when the original chef, Antoine Magnin, died at the age of eighty-six in 1987, he left behind a well-trained maître d’ in Louis Gadby. Wood still fuels the stove and oven, and the same wood burns in the dining room’s ancient heater, a unifying touch that the previous chef valued. There have been two recent improvements—replacing the barbaric Napoleonic toilet and allowing credit cards, meaning that diners no longer have to arrive in armored cars full of cash.

As for the menu, fish lovers had best go elsewhere, as the only sea creatures tolerated here are scallops with roe when in season, roasted on the half-shell as an appetizer. The large, plump snails are also great starters, bathed in green-gold garlic and parsley butter, and so sizzling hot they appear to still be wriggling. Do not overlook the most awesome appetizer of all, the house-prepared signature foie gras—not a pâté but rather a solid, rose-pink block, pure and chilled, like a dream of an indecently rich ice cream. Served with slabs of crusty baguette toasted over the wood fire, the dish would be a meal in itself at any place but Louis’s.

Draw breath and consider the main courses, among them what is surely the world’s best roasted chicken, the blue-footed Bresse specimen cooked in Normandy butter. If not that, then consider a succulently tender gigot of lamb or a lusciously blood-rare
côte de boeuf
, to
which not even the best American or Argentine steak can hold a candle. Heat-burnished roasted veal kidneys, properly ruby-rare at the center, and golden roasted pheasant are also usually on hand. If you order a week ahead, you can have (for two or more) the traditional
salmis
of duck or pheasant, that medieval-tasting stew whose sauce is rich with poultry blood.

Accompanying the meat are delectable potatoes, sliced and roasted in duck fat or finely slivered and crisped. Should you be lucky enough to be at L’Ami Louis in the late spring, order a copper saucepan full of woodsy, earthy wild morels bathed in heavy cream.

Vegetables? Well, maybe the first asparagus of spring, but Magnin didn’t like to fool around with such insubstantial fare, and neither does his heir. However, for exotic fruits and nuts—fresh almonds still in their green suedelike husks and tasting more like fruit—there is always a place at the dessert table.

A soothing frozen nougat dessert is about the most anyone can manage after a huge and hearty meal that is best accompanied by one of the house’s special Fleurie wines.

Where:
32, rue du Vertbois, Paris, tel 33/1-48-87-77-48. Closed Mondays and Tuesdays and from mid-July to mid-August.

Artichauts violets.

Even in its simplest incarnation—steamed or boiled, served with a dipping sauce of vinaigrette or lemony melted butter—the multipetaled bud of the
Cynara scolymus
thistle plant is a delight. In this Provence specialty, it is slowly simmered to silken tenderness in olive oil and a touch of lemon juice, with seasonings of onion and garlic and slivers of ham or bacon; mushrooms, carrots, and even the slightest trace of tomato may make an appearance as well. What must be present is thyme, or
barigoule
(Provence’s bastardized version of the Niçois word
farigoule
), the defining herb.

After having carefully trimmed the leaves and removed the thorny choke, some cooks choose to stuff the opened, raw artichokes with the aforementioned ingredients, then tie the chokes closed and let them simmer in the broth. Either way, small, young artichokes give the most tender results.

Served warm in a bowl that can accommodate a shallow pool of the pan juices, the artichokes make light and palate-priming appetizers. This cooking method, known as
à la grecque
, renders the entire artichoke edible, so no need to tackle yours leaf by leaf; just use a fork and dig in, not forgetting to sop up the last of the savory juices with some bread or a spoon.

Further information and recipes:
Cuisine Niçoise: Recipes from a Mediterranean Kitchen
by Jacques Médecin (1991);
The Lutèce Cookbook
by André Soltner with Seymour Britchky (1995);
saveur.com
(search artichauts a la barigoule).
See also:
Carciofi Romaneschi
.

Once asked in an interview which food he remembered most fondly from his boyhood in Provence, the celebrated haute couture designer Christian Lacroix answered, “Aubergine en caton.” The dish of his memories is a lusciously silken roasted eggplant served as a luminous, jade-green puree, its smoky bitterness sparked with a piquant sauce of capers, anchovies, garlic, parsley, lemon juice, and olive oil. Crisp baguette crusts or strips of raw vegetables can be used to dip into the mixture.

Although recipes for this dish are hard to locate, the preparation is so simple that an informal description suffices. Use a large eggplant if the dish is to be shared; smaller specimens may be served as stylish individual portions. Pierce small holes all over the eggplant with a skewer or the slim point of a sharp paring knife (to prevent bursting), and then place it on a pan and roast it in a hot oven until the skin wrinkles and takes on a bronze cast.

When it is cool enough to handle, split the eggplant open and serve it warm, its flesh scooped out onto pretty plates. Because the puree is so sheer and elusive, it is best not to bed it down on greens, among which it might disappear. Mix capers, anchovies, garlic, parsley, lemon juice, and olive oil into a sauce, and whisk. Spoon the sauce over the eggplant to taste; you’ll see why this very local favorite appetizer deserves a much wider audience.

Tip:
Choose eggplant that is unblemished and very ripe, with a deep black-purple skin that needs only be wiped clean with a damp towel. If preparing more than one, be sure they are of equal size for even cooking.
See also:
Baba Ghanoush
;
Sichuan Eggplant
.

Can’t decide between lamb, pork, or beef? With this dish, you don’t have to; all three are baked together in a large earthenware casserole known as a “baker’s oven,” a term that applies to both the container and its contents. Like many other long-cooking, one-pot meals deriving from earlier days when home ovens were uncommon (see
cholent
), the Baeckeoffe was traditionally taken to the baker to be placed in his big stone oven.

As with choucroute, the dish is a by-product of Alsace’s long, sparkling winter season, when hearty meals cooked at a leisurely pace warm kitchens and, eventually, bodies and souls. The ingredients are simple: Wine-and herb-marinated
meats—including pigs’ feet, which add viscosity to the sauce—are slow-baked with carrots, onions, celery, potatoes, leeks, and goose fat. To retain heat and flavor, the casserole’s lid is sealed with a flour-and-water paste and the whole is placed in the oven. Three hours later, when that seal finally is broken and the lid removed, the resultant aroma—heady scents of rich meats, thyme, bay leaf, garlic, and wine—will almost be sustenance enough. Take a few bites anyway, and then see if you can stop. Don’t forget to add mustard, and enjoy it with a cold beer or a dry Alsatian white wine, a clean-tasting riesling, or a piquant gewürztraminer. Complete the meal with a green salad and a crusty loaf of bread.

Where:
In Strasbourg
, Le Baeckeoffe d’Alsace, tel 33/3-88-23-05-40;
baeckeoffe.com
.
Further information and recipes:
The Lutèce Cookbook
by André Soltner with Seymour Britchky (1995);
The Cuisine of Alsace
by Pierre Gaertner and Robert Frederick (1981);
epicurious.com
(search baeckeoffe).